


FRY/DAVIES

by hallo catfish (ryuujitsu)



Category: QI RPF
Genre: C made me do it, M/M, i'm a terrible human being, it's all C's fault
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-27
Updated: 2013-03-27
Packaged: 2017-12-06 16:51:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/737933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ryuujitsu/pseuds/hallo%20catfish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alan breaks into Stephen's flat, gets wet, gets naked, and talks in that funny way of his.</p>
            </blockquote>





	FRY/DAVIES

**Author's Note:**

> I have no excuses. Only apologies. PROFUSE APOLOGIES. Mostly to Mr Fry.

On a rather dismal London evening, Stephen unlocked the door of his flat and was very nearly knocked down by the infernal reek of cannabis smoke that billowed out to greet him.  A flick of a nearby switch revealed a dark-haired man reclining, mostly in the nude, in Stephen’s favorite armchair.  The chair was deep, lustrous brown in color and imported from Italy.  The _man_ was pale and hairy, and the hair on his head was long and curling and very, very wet.  It was appalling.  It was Alan Davies.

 

“Hallo, Stephen,” he said, smiling in a sleepy half-lidded way.  “You’re _early_.”

 

“Oh, good God,” said Stephen.  “What are you doing here?  How did you get in?”

 

“A Mrs Hammerstead let me in.  _Lovely_ lady.  Lovely.  Haven’t got a telly put in yet, I see,” Alan Davies said.  “Really, Stephen.  For _shame_ , Stephen.”

 

“Get out,” said Stephen.

 

Alan sank lower in the armchair with a wet sound that made Stephen’s teeth grind together.

 

“I brought video _games_ ,” he said.  “Thought I could introduce you to a lovely little game called Mario Kart.  It’s good fun.  Except you haven’t got a telly, which is quite silly of you, I think.  Do you know what would be lovely, if you and I went out and bought one and then we could watch telly together.  In a _heap_.  Only I don’t know what I’ve done with my clothes.  Do you know?  You always know.”

 

“Get out, Alan,” Stephen said, more sharply.  “I really haven’t the time tonight.”

 

“Been in your loo, Stephen.  Nice loo, much better than your old one.  Smaller though.  But very _fancy_.  Had a bath, a nice long bath.  And then a wank.  And then another bath.  I smell _excellent_.”

 

“Alan, I don’t care,” Stephen said.  “I’ll throw you out if I have to.  Sit up and find your clothes, there’s a good lad.”

 

“Come smell me,” Alan said.  “I smell really excellent.”  He raised an arm and sniffed at his own elbow.  “Mmm.  See?”

 

“You smell like cheap cannabis,” Stephen said.  “I won’t come any closer.”

 

“I do not,” said Alan indignantly.  He got to his feet, splattering water all around him, and Stephen’s fine silk dressing gown slipped away from his hips and fell in a glistening pool about his ankles.  “ _Stephen_.”

 

“Christ,” Stephen said, but let Alan put his arms around his neck. 

 

“I smell like lemons,” Alan said.  “Delicious lemons.  The kind they crossed with oranges, to make them sweeter.  That kind.”

 

He did a bit, at that.

 

“I have come to save you, Stephen Fry, from a fate worse than death,” Alan said, looking lazily up at him.  “You were going to go for a really long walk and wax poetic about the moon, and come home and drink your rubbish Italian wine and fall asleep under your silky sheets all by yourself, and probably while wearing silk pyjamas, and not even have a wank.  And that, Stephen, is bollocks.  _Utter_ bollocks.  I reckon I have a better plan.”

 

“Do you really,” Stephen said, long-suffering as he accepted a sloppy kiss.

 

“Yes,” Alan said happily.  “Bend down and I shall whisper it in your ear.”


End file.
